


little queen

by Vile_Astraia



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Bad Fruit Metaphors, Cunnilingus, Darkfic, Decoy Rey, Exhibitionism, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingering, First Time, Forced Lesbianism, Forced Orgasm, Getting Dicked For The Greater Good Of The Galaxy, Humiliation, Identity Swap, Kylo Gets Some Handmaidens Involved, Kylo Ren Isn’t Not Into It, Literal Space Opera, Manipulation, Master/Slave dynamics, Naboo - Freeform, Naboo Is Currently Experiencing The Fall of Rome, Naboo Is Not a Nice Place Anymore, Naboo Pawns a Child Queen for a Peace Treaty, Nobody Dies But Yikes, Object Insertion, Only The Purplest Prose, Political Marriage, Rey is 15, Supreme Leader Kylo, The Author Takes Liberty With Controversial Romance Tropes, Tragedy Elements, Underage - Freeform, Underage Sex, Virgin Rey, Wedding Night, consummation, dead dove do not eat, non-HEA, noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-01-04 19:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18350126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vile_Astraia/pseuds/Vile_Astraia
Summary: His expression was coaxing and soft.“I find this exchange just as barbaric as you do, little one.”He clucked his tongue like it was shame they had to do this.He could not. Not really. He couldn’t know, could never understand, what her virginity represented to her own people. What their queen meant to them. What using her as the last hope to save the planet, handing her over to a man, was going to imply for their existence.





	1. Chapter 1

Her face felt hot. 

While her bare shoulders, her bare legs, and her bare chest were very cool in the open air of the room; her face was feverish. 

The Queen’s Chambers in Theed Palace were designed to let the air and light of the city filter in. To be at one with her planet: to not shut it out. Despite the perceived danger, it was as respectful a show of trust as a bowed head to an armed adversary. 

Especially when you yourself are armed and your blade was quick and merciless. 

With every lattice and drape left open for this night, she felt it oppressively instead of appreciatively for the first time against naked skin. 

Maybe the rest of her feeling cool was what made it noteworthy. The white paint on her face always trapped the flush under her skin at crowded ceremonies or moments of stress. Usually by now, when she was in private, a handmaiden was mopping the melted cosmetics away with a cool cloth. 

But naked, alone, she felt the juxtaposition more sharply. 

She hated the moment of sensuality breaking through her nerves. But the sentimental attachment to all momentary pleasures was that one shared mind of Naboo. It was illusory. Dreamy. Romantic. 

_ Imagine if this night did bring love, actual, true love like in stories: _ her body sang the suggestion even as her mind turned to fear. Her tense muscles shivering but her skin prickled to every sensation. 

She was not so little that she believed these fantasies for long. 

She trembled as her cosmetic-smothered face flamed, looking at the sunset strewn streets below.

_ These are my people. I must be willing to die for them. _

It was not dying that she feared. Nabooian queens did not fear death. 

The young queen Kira had been married to The Supreme Leader this morning. Even as the festivities, as far as she would be involved in, had ended before the sun had sent. It was still an orange glow over Theed as she waited for her husband to join her in the bed that she would be claimed in.

Her face was heavily painted for these festivities, a shimmer over the usually matte white and dotted cheeks and her slashed lips darker and more severe, and maybe that’s why it felt so hot. The bow of her lips was crowned with a gold shimmer that dipped into a deep plum at the seam of her mouth. The lips gaped to breathe. 

The flush was trapped into her pores, where the rest of her naked body was twisting from the breezes coming in like an occasional hand was gliding across her skin. Her small breasts suffered the most, her nipples stiff enough to pop, vulgar and pink and extended like little berries from the chill in the room.

It was not unheard of to be married at her age, or even to take a lover. But as queen; her innocent wisdom was what made her elected to sit in the highest tree as the most unattainable fruit. 

Forbidden. 

Her Innocence that she would lack when the morning broke. 

The doors swung open.

Her heavily masked husband crossed into the pearly, sunlit room with a grace and ease. 

If her nakedness imposed even a slight impression on him, stripped and washed by teary-eyed handmaidens in preparation for the first married  _ serving _ queen of Naboo like they were preparing a corpse for burial, then he gave no indication. 

He moved briskly, unsentimental, passing her by despite the deliberate display that had been made of her. 

Her husband instead sat on the bed, but the motion of it startled her. This was  _ the queen’s bed _ , and he approached it like being given  _ his _ bed at an inn or a hosting household. Not taking up space so personal to her. He moved in a sweep of black cape. And he took a seat with his spine pressed to the plush headboard. 

She had pictured him, a predatory monster, backing her into it until she had to flatten down and spread her spindly limbs for him to lie between. Fucking her roughly in his black robes. His mask still on as the mechanized alteration of his voice grunted like a happabore in her ear. 

But his place behind her meant, instead of him closing in on her, she would have to move the final inches forward to him. 

Or attempt to escape into the marble room around them.

It was clear he wanted to make her thoughts turn towards running.

Too risky.  

And then he took off his helmet. 

Naboo was a romantic planet. Like how some planets were warm, or swampy, or sandy. It was how a teenage girl could become Queen. It was in their arts, their sciences geared towards connecting people, their culture founded in sexuality but also affection. There was a code of courtly love: though until now slightly unfounded to be applied to a child queen. 

There were operas about what was going to happen to her now. Scores of novels: of high art and low. Rumors to thicken food that was scarce, to fill tables that were empty with at least some good conversation. 

Abduction. Forbidden love. Desperate claiming. 

Kisses on Naboo specifically were important in their meaning. They could mean a thousand things. As ingrained as any language. 

The Supreme Leader went masked for the ceremony that bound them eternally. She knew as soon as it happened controversy of this would be heard throughout the depths of the planet. That which was not ruled by their young matriarch, but acquired by the mysterious Supreme Leader: and he did not even kiss his child bride. Her age did not horrify her liberal-minded people so much. Love could be found in unlikely places, even between a teenage girl and a man over a decade her senior. Yes, she could be defiled. Answering then was the possibility, the perverse craftiness of the mind of a romantic: that she may in fact enjoy it. 

Her people and their gossip and their turns to artistic expression were looking for more excuses for her to like her new husband than she was. 

Already an Opera was in the works where the Queen Kira would die after a short, happy marriage to her masked husband and he would, years later, make a second bride of the daughter she bore him. 

It was just dramatic enough for them. 

Still, no one had pictured him start on this foot. It was not her age that outraged them for her: but the mere denial of his kiss. The little bride had to rise on her toes, her heels lifted out of the backs of her little slippers, to kiss the black metal instead. 

A union built on the deepest of slights. A kiss was at least mutual. This was a slap in the face. 

She could feel him breathe against her mouth through a filtered grate. But she only touched against a hard shell, an object he hid behind.

She had not seen her husband’s face until now. 

He was beautiful. The poems on him would be especially lusty if the poets themselves beheld his face. She was not so good with words, but her keen, clever eyes assessed him properly. 

His expression was coaxing and soft. 

“I find this exchange just as barbaric as you do, little one.”

He clucked his tongue like it was shame they had to do this. 

He could not. Not really. He couldn’t know, could never understand, what her virginity represented to her own people. What the their queen meant to them. What using her as the last hope to save the planet, handing her over to a man, was going to imply for their existence. 

Naboo was as occupied as her cunt was about to be.

She was still staring at him. His lips were flushed red, and she was immediately back at the altar where they stood hours ago. 

She might have liked to kiss those lips, had he offered them to her. Her irritation flared at her husband. If the helmet was just going to come off right away, why could she not kiss him when it would soothe the fears of her people that he would respect their customs?

Yet her tight thighs flexed at the tone of his voice. He was trying to be kind. 

“You should be on whatever lush estate you were raised on, under the care of parents who shouldn’t have used your beauty for political gain. I think I will keep you on your own planet, in some snug villa, would you like that? It will ease the transfer of power, and I can come home to you and we can be good friends before we concern ourselves with babies.”

She swallowed. 

“You will not lie with me tonight?”

It was not smart of her to make these her first spoken words to him, at least  _ directly. _

His face was much more expressive than the mask; something she should have expected instead of being surprised it wasn’t similarly unreadable. He raised his eyebrows, and then shrugged sheepishly.

“I didn’t say that. I  _ have _ to, that’s how barbaric this occasion is. I just don’t want to hurt you, I truly don’t, but that’s the nature of politics. I have to bed you. I promise to be very gentle, and only give my cock to the most eager of little queens; but the efforts in doing so might not be very pleasant.”

His lips pursed sympathetically. 

All she could think for a moment was wonder why he didn’t kiss her at the wedding. It didn’t feel done because he had not kissed her; like merely a proxy by hologram, which happened with some wealthy Nabooian families before the children were old enough to make babies.

She cleared her raspy throat. 

“Thank you.”

She could not think of kissing that mouth when it spoke of such things. Even gently. 

“Hmm,” he agreed, scratching his scalp so that pretty hair was freed from the helmet’s shaping. It glinted in the sunlight, the only part of him that looked right in an orange glow. “Do you know why Naboo has child queens?”

She licked her lips.

“Our innocent wisdom.”

He laughed, actually  _ laughed, _ at the deepest core belief of her people. 

He might as well have spat in her face. 

“Innocence as Insurance, little one. A child queen is a pure being, is she not? No one’s wormed their way into your little cunny yet? What a perfect offering for a last, desperate attempt to avoid a war. You serve your people only as a bartering chip, little queen. And they’ve thrown you down to be conquered.”

Tears streamed down her made-up face. The cosmetics the handmaiden Libaé had carefully applied to her, today like any other day, were streaking from his mocking words. But as his boots came to rest upon the beautiful linens underneath them, blithe disrespect for what had been her room and bed until now, he spoke as though she had no reaction at all;

“Of course, you’re very lucky to be married to me. Another Supreme Leader, any other powerful Sith lord like myself, might take advantage of your innocence and tear you to pieces tonight. I don’t want that.”

She knew her eyes looked glassy, stranded in the snowy white visage. She felt them fuzz around the lids.

There was wine meant for her husband on a side table. An elaborate platter of fruit. Probably for her too; to keep herself strong through all the fucking. 

She’d selected the wine while she waited for him. 

It was odd: what was or wasn’t allowed to her. 

A queen. Not allowed things. Another paradox. 

And most paradoxical: this conversation was allowed instead. But she’d broken protocol that a young queen of Naboo could partake in a ceremonial sip of libation until she was old enough to drink, the same age as any citizen. 

But if the Supreme Leader wanted to fuck her; that was indeed allowed. 

“What do you want?” She asked when her head stopped spinning. It made for inopportune pauses in the conversation. Did he think her slow, or her people slow, when she kept weaving in and out of this conversation?

“I want a little cream on my tongue, that is all, and I shouldn’t get that by breaking you,” he looked at her then, as though in his rambling, he was forgetting himself. “I can do that, you know. I will. If I have to. But I don’t want to hurt such a precious thing when it’s not required.”

Her heart was pounding. She just sat on the foot of the bed, still naked and kneeling, and had to twist her neck to look over her shoulder at him.

His expression was inquisitive when he met her gaze. 

“Do you know how I get you to make cream?”

She shut her eyes. 

“Arousal.”

“Yes, your private place has to get hot. Some call it nectar,” he smiled as she winced. There were  _ innumerable _ Nabooian poems about nectar. “Yes, little queen. I know of the poems. I read some of them in preparation for this night. Maybe I’ll whisper them into your cunt until you make nectar too, when you get hot.”

Her knees dug into the mattress. She tried not to think about her thighs, her entire lap, tensing up by his words. 

His eyes flicked down to her apex. The Supreme Leader had not missed a thing.

He sat up. “I wonder what fruit my little wife is.”

She didn’t answer. 

“Runny, under the skin, like a plum? In this light I can see that beautiful gold down all over your skin. Fuzzy like a little peach. Don’t blush, I like it. Those ripe little berries on your chest are making my mouth water, my princess.” 

“I am a queen,” was her only protest. 

He cracked a wry grin. 

The offense was intended. 

Pleased to have properly bothered her. 

The downy, almost indiscernible gold hairs that dusted her skin were pricking up. 

She was self conscious about them. The handmaidens teased her about them in the baths. The light made them shimmer. She thought he’d be looking at her ass, her tits. But he’d noticed something more personal. 

And despite her fear: his words had her dripping between her closed, kneeling legs. 

“So what do you suppose we do now, my Empress? Does it feel better that you aren’t a mere queen anymore?”

He grinned, kicking his feet out experimentally. Stretching out on a bed for a young girl, a Queen’s bed, and one not built like it was meant to be shared. 

“You didn’t kiss me during the ceremony.”

He raised his eyebrows, his soft mouth falling open in surprise and then curling with smug heat.

“I did not.”

“The people of Naboo would take it as a slight.”

“Hmm,” he cupped her chin in his gloved hand. How had she been naked for the entirety of their first conversation, their first time meeting face-to-face other than their wedding, and even that he was masked for. “Does that mean you want me to kiss you?”

“I did not say that. But you were supposed to.”

His lips, suddenly on hers, were soft. Too soft. Lush and pliable, when she was supposed to be pliant for him. 

Her nose wrinkled in frustration when she push her mouth against his, trying to get a rhythm to click into place…

He pulled away.

“You’ve done this before.”

Her painted white cheeks flamed. 

“Y-yes?”

Kira had. With the son of her parent’s friends. A few weeks preceding her coronation; a summer romance, just kisses, everyone fawning over all she was giving up to be queen. 

There was a novella about it, badly written, but it sold very well. 

She forgot the boy wasn’t a complete fiction, someone who really had kissed Kira, until that moment.

His eyes flickered dangerously. 

“Are you a virgin?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

As though the radioactive sunlight could not burn any hotter on her skin; she flushed equally red underneath the white paint.

_ “Yes?” _

A hand closed around her ankle. Unfolding it, and then yanking her so she flattened to her spine on the mattress.

There were warning given to her of manhandling tonight. What she represented was something any man would be rough with. A naked queen was arranged to be fucked brutally after her wedding, by not a king, but a Supreme Leader.

This was meant to hurt. It was what she had volunteered for. 

Yet this Supreme Leader was distant and methodical, warm but careful. Stroking the insole of her kicking, protesting little foot with his thumb as he held her pussy open to examine. He was not what he expected at all; not less cruel, but cruel in different ways. Taunting and teasing and not letting her get away from him. 

Not letting her pleasure escape either of them; as he stretched a shiny wet line of her fluids away from her body, sticky and obvious, before wiping his gloved hand off on her inner thigh. 

She gasped, his fingers coaxing through her folds, her ass in his lap, but her shoulders still rested on the sheets. It forced her to arch her back uncomfortably.  

“I need to check something first.”

“W-what?”

“It’s alright,” he soothed, focusing on coating his fingers in her wetness. The gloved tips probed into a very private place. She shuddered.

She had hoped this all would have been over already: he’d take her roughly, quick so she wouldn’t have to look at him, and she could take her hair out of the elaborate headdress that made her scalp ache. 

Kylo Ren held her open and looked directly into her cunt.

_ This  _ wasn’t even touching and was so much more horrible to her. Especially when he was so completely silent as his eyes searched. She tried to close her legs once; but he held them open.

“What are you checking?”

A flutter of fear shook from the inside of her chest. 

Was there something wrong with her? She’d been shaved so cleanly by a handmaiden, something that made her want to die of humiliation that morning, but she trusted them all so thoroughly, wouldn’t they  _ tell her _ if something was wrong?

“Don’t worry. I’m taking care of it.”

“If it’s important, surely a doctor-”

“No, we don’t need a doctor,” a finger swiped more insistently through her folds under the muscles of her belly jumped in response, “But it’s very important that as your husband, I have to check you very carefully to make sure nothing’s wrong. It’s alright. Trust me.”

_ “What’s wrong with me?” _

All the training she had suffered for this night; and she was naked and flat on her back and nothing had happened and she was more terrified for this than anything else. 

She cried out but was silenced by the look in his eyes.

His tone was dangerous when it asked:

“Have you let anyone in here?”

_“No,”_ she shook her head. Was there a reason to doubt?

He nodded, a strand of hair falling over one eye.

A finger breached her swiftly. She was slick, but it still tore the air out of her lungs. Her legs were held open by his chest, spreading out her hips in his lap to probe casually down. She wiggled, protesting and squeaking, as her inner walls sucked his thick finger to hold the invasion steady. 

Not to expel. To cradle. 

The intensity of his gaze waned. 

He smiled. 

“Nothing is wrong with you,” he soothed, that smile gracing so much dangerous gentleness as he bowed his head to kiss above her knee,  _ “nothing at all. _ Aren’t you glad I checked?”

_ “Mmm,” _ she whined, her thighs tensed. 

She would be glad when it was over; the bastard was stretching this out as long as he could. 

The headdress she wore, when not balanced by pounds and pounds of royal garb over the rest of her body, left her completely off-kilter. Once it hit the sheets it was impossible to right herself back up. Her stomach muscles protested, jumped, and trembled, when she tried to sit up, to at least face him instead of being openly so lewdly across his lap. But his free hand held her down under her rib cage while the other pressed a finger all the way in.

She was wet,  _ shamefully wet, _ but it was still a complete foreign intrusion. 

“You’ve done very well, little queen.”

Her breath is slow and steady.

“You didn’t... _ believe _ me.”

She pressed one cheek to the bed, her left eye glaring up at him. 

She felt something stretch, then ache, as he probed inside her with his index finger. There were harsh, wet sounds, slick soaking her thighs despite her painful humiliation. 

He was testing her hymen like a whore he’d bought from a nefarious dealer. Like faulty goods.

The dishonor. 

“You kissed me well. But you told me the truth, good girl.”

He wiggled his finger inside her with a teasing grin. Wetness slipped freely from her cunt, his inquisitive finger pushing it in and out very messily. 

She bit back a stuttering moan.

"Tell me why you kiss so well?"

"I p-practiced with my handmaidens."

There were dirty holos about that. Novels. Songs. A queen and her maids. The secrecy, the devotion, the private lives. It wasn't as controversial on Naboo, at least in that it didn't threaten the purity of the women. A woman's fingers couldn't stretch like a man's, or a cock, so a bride was no in danger by them. 

"I'll have to express my thanks to them shortly..."

It happened so fast: he lifted and flipped her to sprawl her open on his lap, this time with her backside up in the air. 

Closing her legs was now even more impossible, the headdress forcing her to bow forward as he examined her carefully from behind. 

“You already checked,” she protested, sounding suspiciously like a whine. 

Queens were not supposed to whine. 

“Mhmm,” he agreed, parting her lips with his gloved fingers. One lifted. She then heard a stretch of leather; he was pulling a glove off by a finger pinched in his teeth. “You’re right. Now we’re just playing.”

Her shoulders shook as she tried to push up onto her hands, driving her weight further into his lap.

“I’m not a toy.”

A breath rushed over her back. She could hear faint birdsong in the distance. 

“I beg to differ.”

She sighed, her chin planted in the sheets. Her lip quivered as he danced bare fingers along her seam. 

A coo left her lip when he strummed her clit; making a point of her pleasure to use against her as he persisted.

“You’re tight now,” he grunted softly, teasing her lips with his fingers. A thumb broke through the defenses and then invaded her tight channel. 

She squeaked, feeling her pussy tense up at the intrusion, but over her shoulder she just felt him shake his head thoughtfully as he touched. 

The thumb was thicker than his forefinger, but shorter. It was not a slender index finger probing for her hymen. It was inside so her walls would cling to it.

Bare this time. 

His skin against hers was making her head swim.

“You can’t take much now,” he mused, thrusting the thick thumb in and out, “You’re too little. But we’ll work you up until you can take anything I feel like, a fist, even. I can hold you in my lap like this while I work and tuck a hand in if I get bored.”

That sounded so dirty, so violating. She choked on her horror.

But inside, she felt the muscles of her pussy bear down on his flesh, pleading, rippling.

_ “Why?” _

“Because,” he seemed to pause to breathe pensively. His silence full of his thoughts. “I like playing games. And married life would get boring without them.”

His bride pushed up on her knees.

She fucked backwards onto his thumb, even though she didn’t want to. Idly, he twisted it inside her. She felt full to the brim from just this, the base of it at the heel of his hand rubbing her clit so she got all slippery for him to wiggle around inside. 

He chuckled. 

“I don’t like games,” she protested, “when you make all the rules for them.”

He clicked his tongue, ignoring her. 

“Look at you,” he teased his knuckle where her nether lips split at his intrusion, “You’re  _ blooming.” _

His vision filled her mind. 

She had been warned of this persuasive Sith power; but she did not anticipate the sight of herself, her pink petal lips spread to take his touch, to be the image of her torture. 

His mind flickered through hers, insistent. She was face down with her nose inches from the floor, hanging off a chair, her ass over his lap. Just like this.

A full hand filled her in the vision, the wrist extending out of her hole, and she was mewling for him. Liking it so big and so full inside. Crying for more. 

In this sunny room, feeling much more scared than the girl in that vision, she broke at the vision of his thumb creeping over her entering the tight hole of her ass to give her more. 

The  _ more _ that she wanted. 

She erupted. Her cries filled the orange-lit sky. She felt them echo, longed to take them back, and that weakened her ability to prevent more from falling out. 

He kept twisting and fucking until she stopped shaking.

He eased her down by her waist onto the mattress, then rolled her over. She went limply. Easily. Pliant and twitching from her orgasm. She didn’t open her eyes until he was hovering over her face.

“You did so well,” he soothed, a hand curling around the nape of her neck. Lifting her little body to open her up with his his own, her legs splayed for him to lie between. The closeness brought her open cunt to drag over his clothed stomach. She shut her eyes and whimpered. Could he feel her drip through his tunic?

He handed her a napkin from the fruit platter beside the bed. She stared at it, and he gestured to her painted mouth. 

Cosimé with her careful hand, drawing the lines of her lips that morning, had given her a sad smile and asked:

“Is this the face you choose?”

She had met her own eyes in the mirror.

This was the face she had chosen. One of a queen: one of Naboo. She would not wipe it away.

Cosmetics were as a part of her soul as her body was. 

She glared at him and surged up; kissing to prove a point. Defiant, dominating. Her gold-and-plum lips attacked his, smearing them, kissing like she had never kissed in her life. 

Her bare limbs wrapped around his body; this was her fight. She would not primly wipe her lips for him if he did not wish for her to appear so. 

The Supreme Leader shoved her down into the mattress. 

“That’s  _ enough.” _

But hunched over her, predatory, only the glint of sunlight came off those smirking, cosmetic-smeared lips of his. 

He shook his head at her. Laughing breathlessly. 

“Foolish of me to think I would get between a Queen of Naboo and her fancies,” he kissed her white cheek, “there are other ways to get these off. Your sweat. Me fucking you into the mattress until you scream. My cum smeared all over you. I will ruin this in many other ways tonight.”

She stared at the ceiling as he tried to taunt her with words. Her eyelids heavy from more with paint.

The wine she had drunk had started to make things spin. She’d just thrown herself at him. He’d just made he cum already, impossibly, with flashing images of her future brutalization racing through her mind.  

Her husband kissed her pouting lips so gently now: “Now, it’s time for your treat.”

There it was: the kiss that meant what it was supposed to. The one she’d heard so much about. It was supposed to be everything.

He claimed her, hovering over her, his lips dripping heat into her painted mouth. 

This was what poetry was for. 

A mission that would always fall short of its goal. Describing what this felt like. 

Kissing her husband, her conqueror, her oppressor, was unlike anything she had felt in her young life. 

And faintly, she was pleased that she was able to feel it before that short life would come to an end. 


	3. Chapter 3

He stretched her out, kittenish, in a patch on sunshine. She blinked at the raze of an ending day in Theed. 

Crushing her breasts under her forearms and eying him with distrust. 

He hovered over her, brushing a strand of hair behind a charmingly large ear, before dropping down to press his lips back to hers.

He was kissing her too carefully for her to think long of discomfort. 

The claim that she had practiced this on her handmaidens was lascivious distraction at best; she knew how to kiss from only them, but it was nothing as teasing and lusty as that. 

It was a sort of bridal training. Scientific. Focused on the person whose mouth worked against hers. They couldn’t look at each other when the practice was over, a senator told them it was best to rehearse his evening for no surprises,  _ a grave-lipped older senator, _ with her mouth in a firm line when she suggested that her queen use her handmaidens for this purpose.

They had trained her to kill, once. Now they trained her to fuck. 

As if in the end, that was all a queen was good for. 

Her husband as much as said it. There was one thing that parted her Queendom. Though, she thought with wine shimmering the edges of her vision, should the Supreme Leader have wanted a man to plunder, the whole planet would be ash now.

She blinked, her tongue feeling very dry as The Supreme Leader pecked carefully at her lips, warming her up.

Cosimé was the best sport in this rehearsal of kissing. Libaé the most creative. 

Kira the cleverest study.

But The Supreme Leader was not a scientific kisser. 

Now, he did touch her, hands crawling up and down her bare sides as he hovered over her. He groaned into her mouth, his lips so pretty and soft against hers, as his hair veiled her upturned, accepting face. 

It was messy. Unscientific. Never did embracing statues carved out of stone glisten with a residual saliva on their lips. One was not fully dressed in an elegant black tunic while the other was naked. And statues were silent as they embraced. Her breaths were fast, her throat squeezing out noises that were not graceful or elegant. 

Noises returned by his equally inelegant, lower-pitched throat. 

His teeth bared into the kiss.

“You’re limp against me, little queen, as if you could do this forever. Have I pleased you?”

She turned her head to the side, his lips meeting her flushed cheek instead. She closed her eyes tight when his bare thumbs circled her stiff nipples. 

He was silent, but what he held back in words was only to distract that he did not back away from her body. He pushed onward as she tried to choke out a protest. 

He pressed down with the pads of his thumbs. They were so warm against already inflamed skin. She arched with a sigh. 

“It’s not t-terrible,” she admitted, her face flaming, and he slid his lips down her throat in a breathy caress. 

“I didn’t want it to be terrible,” he held her thighs open and brought himself lower between them, “I want you to like it. Won’t this be a nice treat? When you are good for me, won’t it be a fun game if I get to promise you kisses if you obey me?”

She shuddered as he hauled her back into his lap. He liked her seated there: she could already sense his fondness for the maneuver. Sense and feel it pressing into her ass. It made her feel hopelessly trapped by gravity, and she had to cling to him to keep from spilling off. 

Unable to avoid the threat of his hardening cock. 

“Yes, I think we are becoming friends already,” he nipped continually at her lips as he crept up the bed with her in his lap.

He moved carefully backwards to rest comfortably up against the headboard.

She hovered above him, licking her dry lips and swallowing heavily. 

There was plum and gold streaking his swollen lips.

Her chest warmed after marking him. 

He dropped his head. She opened her eyes to see the sunset-laced black strands as he bowed his face over her painfully tight nipples. She squeaked as he licked at them. One, then the other. Back and forth. Flicking, glancing up at her in acknowledgment that he did in fact know how hard they were, and then running a flat tongue over the barest curve. 

The rhythm he went at was so natural she was almost certain he was going in time with the beat of her heart.

“Eager yet, little queen?”

Her eyes fluttered shut as her head fell back. 

His soft mouth was now sucking.

It both soothed and made it much worse. She thought her nipples were going to burst, but the caress was so sweet. 

“Not yet,” she murmured.

If he was going to ask, she would take the time and stall. 

Time was…

Time was very important for things to go according to plan.

Stalling was his gift to her; even if he didn’t know it yet. 

He glanced up a her, popping a nipple free of his suctioned lips with a lewd sound. She bit her lips as heat flooded the bud in cool, breezy air. 

“Eagerness is relative, you know.”

She rubbed her cunt up against his lap. He gave no indication that he noticed other than a hand spanning the curve of her hip, squeezing tight. 

“Is it?”

She felt her breath fall harshly out from her clenched teeth.

He bounced her into a more comfortable position in his lap. “It is important to know there are two sides to this. You can be eager for me to continue, and we keep going. And you can be eager for me to stop what I am doing-”

She remembered the fingers inside her and lost her breath. 

She was beginning to understand his torture. 

“-and offer me an alternative.”

Couldn’t she lie back like a statue and take it? Wasn’t she pretty and pale enough to be as unmoving as a moon? 

Why did he have to have her alive and writhing in his lap like a snake? A vulgar thing, a moaning, common whore?

Because she was once a queen. Subordinate to none. 

Now  _ his _ empress. 

His equal and his slave.

There was something about his pleasure that seemed to bloom from her enjoyment and shame.

She nodded stupidly as he cupped her sex with one large hand.

With one firm, threatening squeeze, his hands were traveling back to her hips like nothing had happened. 

He kissed her breast sweetly now.

“Does that feel good?”

Her hand covered the breast left unattended, as though blocking the sight from ever having gracing him. 

He was smiling up at her. Not lifting his mouth from the nipple he did currently have in his possession. 

“Little queen?”

He lapped at the bud until he had her bucking, then withdrew his mouth entirely. 

She almost cried out at the loss. 

“Does it feel nice, little queen?”

A hand gripped the nape of her neck again, drawing her back to look in his eyes. 

She closed her own.

“Answer me.”

She nodded, swallowing. Shivering as the breeze caressed her wet tits. 

The hand squeezed. 

She yelped and nodded again.

“Yes.”

He held her head steady. Staring glacially into her half-open eyes. 

“Tell me properly. Thank me.”

“It feels so nice. Thank you, Supreme Leader.”

His hand dropped her back down to settle into his lap. Her limp thighs did not break her fall, her cunt snug against a part of him she had not noticed was fully hard until now.

She whimpered. 

All that was supposed to go _ inside. _

A pad of one thumb returned to her nipple, the one she faintly realized she had covered with her palm before his fingers casually nudged it out of the way. 

He circled gently. Thoughtfully. She could not look at him; her eyes on glittering dome roofs of Theed.

She was doing this for them because she loved them. And they loved Kira. 

She was doing this for Kira.

She knew her husband could read minds when he wanted to; so she hadn’t dared pray that the shuttle had left the atmosphere by now, racing surreptitiously to a galaxy far away…

And she was here.

Being torn apart by a handsome monster.

It would not be for nothing.

While he traced his finger on her pebbled skin, she did her best to ignore him, and he seemed to be ignoring  _ her _ save for the breast under his hand. 

Her husband reached for the plate of fruit from the side table and selected a pear. He snapped the stem off with his teeth, spitting it onto the floor next to the bed.

She tried not to cringe at his bad manners.

He considered the pear more carefully than he would ever need to a piece of fruit. 

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re guessing,” she replied dryly, and with horror realized her sarcasm dropped the royal dialect she had been drained in for something pedestrian, as it always did when she was sarcastic.

She had months of training to fix this,  _ why had it cropped up with him just now? _

He looked up from the skin, his fingers dancing carefully over it as if to check for bruises. 

“I’m not going to eat it; but thank you.”

“For  _ wha-?” _

He brushed the thinner top of the fruit against her sex. She clung to his shoulders. Looking up at him in fear. 

_ He wouldn’t. _

He pressed it firmly so the tapered end filled her entrance.

“I’ve heard Nabooian pears are a delicacy; I was eager to try one. But it’s not ripe enough yet.”

“It’s t-too early this time of year,” she agreed with her teeth clenched.

Refusing to break.

The plug inside was already running with her own slick, not that she cared to admit. She hid that as much as she tried to hide her fear.

The pear was underripe, and small, so the only threat for the shallow intrusion was when it grew wider; how far he would press it in to stretch her out. But he seemed intent on her virginity belonging to him; she doubted he’d surrender it fully to a piece of fruit. 

“Will you give me a tour of the orchards, when the time is right?”

“Certainly,” she knit her eyes shut and dug her fingers into his shoulders as he pushed it deep enough to start to hurt, “I should like for my husband to love my planet and its beauty. To respect it as if it were his own culture.”

She spoke smoothly through the sting of her stretching hymen.

“Hmm,” he kissed her sunny, freckled shoulder, “diplomatic child.”

“One must be crafty when our spring harvest displeases you so.”

His eyes flickered with a strange fondness: like a schoolmaster alighting with affection for an apt pupil. 

“It’s too hard now,” he agreed mournfully, looking back between her legs and the firm object shoved crudely there, “I was hoping your tight cunt would juice it for me.”

He brushed her clit with his thumb, his hand cupping the base of the pear to stay trapped inside her shuddering cunt.

She wanted it deeper. Her body did, at least, bearing down greedily like a hungry mouth. 

He was feeding her little cunt so well. Too much. A feast that made her too full. 

“Lie back again,” he guided in a whisper, which was useless instruction when he was already arranging her just how he wanted. She was too stuffed full to protest as he stretched her out on the mattress and knelt between her open legs. “I’ll just drink  _ your _ nectar instead.”

Tears fell freely, marking tracks through her cosmetics, as he latched his mouth to her protruding clit and gave a thrust of the pear that was half-inside already. It didn’t go all the way in, for the flaring at the base was too wide, but it did stretch her more than anything else had before. 

Then the suckling on a swollen bud like hers just made her leaky, runny, like the fruit inside her was at its ripest.

It did not give her a chance to process her pain or pleasure.

Or to consider what showing it would give away to an enemy. 

She shook with tears as she came for the second time that evening.

She felt him lap at her wet inner thighs. Sucking bruises into where the skin was softest, dragging his tongue at every shivery expulsion of spend. Sucking her stretched, swollen lips.

The object inside her had meaning. He knew this. But a young cunt stretched by it by such a knowing hand and such a teasing voice was still able to ripple and prolong her shame as he fucked it into her. Using it. Using her.

She was utterly consumed by his mouth, rolling his tongue like a tide over her aching clit.

Her face must have been very red under her cosmetics, and she prayed to the names of her six handmaidens once again for adorning her, being with her, protecting her in these moments of shuddering helpless climax.

Faintly, she realized he hadn’t even fucked her yet. So much violation; none of which was the expected sort for tonight.

When he removed the pear, she felt empty. When he took a bite of it, she felt sick. 

“Taste the fruit of your planet,” he coaxed, guiding her painted lips to the flesh that her own nectar shone with. She wrinkled her nose and took a small, ashamed bite. 

It tasted of Naboo Spring and her own essence. Familiar and unfamiliar, of herself and of the soil. 

But it was not a perfect pear.

Mealy. Hard. 

Picked far too early.

Devoured too soon.

 


	4. Chapter 4

She put her hands on him: it was some kind of madness to put her hands on him, but here she was doing it like his pleasure meant anything to her. All experience and advice gone from her blank mind, her hands flattening on his stomach and then sliding into his trousers-

He pushed her roughly onto her back.

A hot gush left her cunt as he moved her, the muscles bearing down freeing the lubrication collected in the process of using her with a piece of fruit. Feeling it slip down her thighs shamed her, with a voracious hunger that dripped it right down into the sheets. Where he, or anyone, could see the lusty stain.

The maids seeing this as the stripped the bed, discovering that she enjoyed it, was the sharpest horror of all.

Another set of black strands fell over his eyes as he cracked a cruel smile.

“At my pace, little one. I wouldn’t want to spoil you, not even on your wedding night.”

She grimaced, and he laughed, slowly pulling his tunic open. It was revealed underneath, proving her suspicions, the naked marble she had pictured. A still form to be pressed and entangled to her naked body. 

He sighed into her ear as their skin brushed together slowly, her little nipples pushing into his skin as he rubbed the insides of her thighs.

This was odd. She really had pictured a preoccupation with his cock. Maybe forcing her to suck it before he put it inside her. But he accepted no stimulation. Only games made of her body.

This however, was different. It was two bodies, two bodies not succumbing to the pull to sex immediately, but moving in a warm and pleasurable way against one another. For a rare moment of this night she did see herself experiencing him like a young lover would in the sheets of a bed in a Villa some afternoon where parents didn't care what she was up to and she didn't have vows to uphold. that she was just a girl and her nipples were her own to let a boy play with. Not her husband's body. Not his toy. 

She did not force the momentum from this: not because it felt nice, but because him taking his time was a blessing. 

She was supposed to lie there. Not on his wishes: but for the good of this plan to work. 

Maybe it was time to be petulant:

“Perhaps I want to be spoiled.”

He smiled before kissing her intently. All his kisses had meanings: he was truly embracing the culture of Naboo with the way he told her, so doting and nurturing, that he was going to take care of her tonight. 

Even if it meant doings things she wouldn’t like.

“Perhaps then it is time to meet your handmaidens. To thank them properly.”

Her eyes slammed shut and he laughed darkly above her. 

“Don’t pout.”

Her fingernails dug into his arms: he hissed, but there was a serenity to the way the laugh  _ faded _ instead of just stopped. He nudged a hard, clothed cock into her sex in warning.

“You are queen of one planet, little one, one planet I could have blown out of the sky from my ship had I any inclination to. I could have instead given you to a general who had grown bored with commemorative medals than taken you as my own. This night would be rougher and crueler than a child-queen could take with an old man. You bowed to me, your senators made this treaty, and it was my own generosity to accept their offer and claim you as mine.”

The little queen blinked fiercely up at him. 

“The Handmaidens serve me alone.”

“Don’t be so sure. I can have them all executed if they act against me. Obeying an Empress against the order of a Supreme Leader is still treason.”

She kept her face brave as she glared up at him.

“You’d just as well cut off my fingers, a part of me, and I will not forgive cruelty like that so easily.”

He looked amused, intrigued, a careful study and an enthusiast for puzzles. He drew her small hand between their bodies and kissed her fingers. His lips dragged sensually over her knuckles as he spoke in a dark tone.

“Maybe not cut them off. But if you’re not careful: I _can_ break them.”

She shivered as he caressed her skin with his tongue. Remaining silent.

“Understood?”

She nodded. 

He leaned towards the table beside the bed, summoning a bell. The bell glinted in the light, an engraved bronze, and the sound was high a clear in the air as he rang for her ladies. She tried not to take note of the contents of the table: the fruit, the wine, an etched glass jar of lubricant if needed (most likely to be ignored but her Handmaidens did care), and towels to dab away her blood when the deed was done.

It could not be done soon enough. 

Her stomach was in knots, but he didn’t seem tempted to her body when he had a point to prove.  

The queen was terrified.

She could lie to _him._

But in front of _them_ , who knew her, who she lived amongst, losing herself and her singularity in a sea of painted faces? She could not. What she had endured over the last hour was something she could not bear to be seen by her little shadows. Her dearest friends. 

They wore, for once, a direct contrast to her deep red wedding gown. They wore pale pinks. She was naked to begin with, trying not to meet their eyes with the bruises sucked onto her neck and chest, but it was strange that this day they were not meant to match her. It was a symbol of their spiritual separation. The purity in all of them waving goodbye to hers now that she was to be used as the Supreme Leader’s whore.

It was horrifying to face them like this. In the bed she now shared. Their bodies entwined, for he made a nest for her in his long limbs as the doors opened and her companions approached her in formation. 

He slid a hand around her throat, and no one moved of breathed for a few moments. 

No one expected to be roused to enter the queen’s chambers. She could see it in all of them. Fear.

“We’re one short.”

She felt her heart stop beating for a moment. He had counted.

Cosimé, the clever one, recovered first:

“We are missing Ré: who was unwell.”

Kylo Ren adjusted the queen stretched on his lap, her legs now held obscenely open. She pinched her eyes shut as the air caressed her dripping sex. Her Handmaidens tried to avert their eyes, but she saw Tallé drop an unintended direct gaze on her swollen lips.

Her looking made her skin feel hot.

A whimper escaped her. 

Kylo Ren crooned comfortingly in her ear and stroked his fingers casually through her sex, back and forth, like he was plucking the strings of an instrument to tune before playing.

“And why does she think that excuses her from  _ this day, _ of all days.”

“She thinks of nothing but her planet, as a Handmaiden is sworn to do. She weeps.”

Such words were bold enough to die over. From her spot on his lap, she didn’t dare open her eyes.

Her husband sniffed, adjusting her into a position he felt she should be better viewed in. Her cunt dripped onto his thigh, a glaze like a honey, and she felt his smile against her cheek as he rubbed it between his fingers.

That cream he wanted so badly, she was producing it to a shameful degree. 

“Go and get her,” he instructed Cosimé: and it was the last demonstration of their ability to care for her than no one gave any indication to him it was a lost cause. “I will have an example made of her for her disrespect.”

Cosimé went obediently out to accomplish his fruitless task. no one breathed until she exited the room.

“You will not harm any of them,” she hissed, her hands tight on his knees. 

He covered her mouth with his hand as though merely annoyed at her wrath. His fingers were wet from her cunt.

“Our little queen tells me how you have all helped her prepare for this day.”

The remaining girls: a unit of one, all nod in response.

“We serve our lady queen in all ways.”

She felt a rumble of laughter against her bare shoulder from Libaé’s response.

“Then you shall be happy to serve her in this one.”

Fingers filled her so swiftly she cried out and arched her back. Two, with no preparation but the pear beforehand. Her body ached instantly. 

“She’s not ready,” he said mournfully, thrusting them roughly in and out as if his piteous tone was all for show. Which is clearly was, with her tight cunt struggling to take him. “One of you, come and aid your queen.”

She cried out: babbling pleas to not do this to her. Tears rolled fresh down her face. He gave a sympathetic noise and kissed her neck. 

“It’s not for me, little queen, it’s for your cunny. I don’t want you to get hurt. We need to make you want it a little more.”

He set his eyes on the lineup of mortified young women, watching the queen squirm and whimper in a most undignified way spread open on his lap.

She knew who it was before he did.

Tallé, with her eyes straying too long to admire her soaked cunt.

That face was looking up at her from between her knees when she opened her eyes. 

“Tallé,” she pleaded, her voice breathy, but to go or to stop was not clear to even herself. 

Her husband reached past her to stroke the Handmaiden’s blonde hair encouragingly.

“Do you see her clit?” there was a smile in his guiding, encouraging tone, “her little pearl sticking out? She’s shiny and pretty. Suck on it until she cums.”

Tallé dipped her head obediently, her teary eyes flashing up at her queen. 

“My lady…”

She shook her head. She would not permit what was to happen: but she was powerless anyway. She shuddered when a small tongue caressed her sex. Pert and flexed, unlike how his larger languid one had been when he suckled on her when the pear was inside. 

The humiliation made her skin burn, but The Supreme Leader had hands on her breasts, tugging her nipples in all directions, making her squirm into the mouth pressed between her legs. 

“Work hard, Handmaiden,” Kylo ordered darkly. She felt him shift underneath her, the unfastening of those trousers that had remained on. “Look at this big cock she has to take all the way inside. It’s your way of helping her.”

Her thighs shook around a pair of flushed red ears. 

The tongue did grow quicker, more insistent, and as much as she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction she did cry out for everyone to hear because it felt so good. 

“Now you may touch me,” he whispered grandly in her ear, as though she’d finally earned it.

Her husband took her hand and wrapped it around his cock. 

Her fear of the monstrous size almost made her grateful for this shameful exercise. It was so big.

“I think your lady queen likes it messy,” he advised to the lips between her legs, tilting his child bride’s head back to kiss her gasping mouth. 

The mouth was practically slurping on her dripping sex. 

Absently, she squeezed her husband’s organ, stroking it, playing with it. He grunted, proud of her ingenuity, into her bare shoulder. 

Her body won over her mind. Her thighs wrapped around Tallé’s head to hold it in place as it dined on her cunt. She came violently, her body twitching and shaking and her voice singing out for the line of her bodyguards, decoys, and companions watched in horror.

When he spoke again, his voice was gentle:

“Someday, Kira, you’ll be all stretched out from my cock and we won’t need your Handmaidens to give you some help before you take me. I can’t wait for that day. But until then, we can all use this as their opportunity to honor you. Understood?”

There was complete silence answering him. She was gasping. They dared not obey when he had her like this? He was trying to break them as much as he was trying to break her, and they just took it?

He was perverting the most sacred bond between Queen and Servant. And they were acting…

They were all acting stone-faced as if she were not their queen anymore 

The blunt head of his cock nudged her sex. She whimpered. Tallé crouched back, shiny from chin to cheeks, like she had been dismissed.

Kylo Ren leaned over her body to grasp the blonde head between her open knees.

“We’re not done here.”

He lined up the head of his cock with the young queen’s sex. 

She couldn’t even bear to keep her eyes open. Enough had been done to her. The last of it lay only seconds away. She should feel relief.

Was it relief, or hunger, when his tip brushed against her sensitive skin?

It bloomed in her lower belly: she shame that she truly wanted to cum. To feel him inside. 

“Help her take it,” he ordered in a dangerous voice, and Tallé lined them up carefully, “good. Now lick that little pearl for me.”

The ordered was followed until she was squirming between them again.

He sheathed himself in her wet cunt with one brutal thrust. All the way, with a tongue working dutifully on her clit, making her not understand the meaning of her own desperate screams. 


	5. Chapter 5

His fingers traced across her stretched lips. Nudging back Tallé to touch her himself, his fingers clumsily collided with her lips between her and the queen’s cunt. 

“This is mine now,” he said in a low voice in her ear. It wasn’t painted white like most of her face and neck, and those ears burned red, “all mine.”

So he wanted to be greedy now. She would be grateful if he had not already thoroughly violated the feeling of pleasure she had felt this night.

He moved like a dance, almost like puppeteers weaving through a street parade with a segmented dragon, and she felt her body sway under his hands. Then the spark of her nerves being run over again and again by this thickness. 

She tried not to give him anything but her silence.

“Don’t cry.  _ Oh, _ it’s alright. Take it all.”

It was too much.

He gave her a little bounce in his lap, settling her in a deep lunge on his cock. Her legs shook in his hands. 

He was practically purring against her neck.

“Oh,” he repeated, marveling lazily, securing a hand at her nape to bend her forward to rock himself up into her. She could only hang off the bed, holding Tallé’s shoulders for purchase, “how’s your cunny? I don’t want to hurt it.”

The arms that held her up were shaking. She did not shake. Her handmaiden whimpered in her ear as her husband bent her down. Their closeness was a folly for how little either could do in this situation.

Words and actions were in completely separate planets. She was speared open, clenching, and the continual slide in and out was like prodding a bruise. The absence sang of goodness, the emptiness allowing her to breathe, but then he’d slide in again and deprive her of-

Sense itself.

Then he slipped a finger between her lips and stroked her clit in deliberate circles, and she tensed up and the muscles that were already sore constricted on him. She cried out, arching her spine as he raised her back up against his chest. 

Tallé crawled back, sensing when she was not needed like a good handmaiden. The queen rolled her hips into those steady thrusts. Cries escaped freely when she undulated against him.

“This will end when I cum, little one, and I greatly anticipate how it feels to fill you up. And then we can play a game to help you sleep. I’ll lick your blood off of you if you lick it off of me. You’ll like it. I’ll make you like it so much. So good, with my tongue inside you, thrashing on the sheets and crying for me to let you go to bed.”

“Does that mean,” something haughty and provocative inflated her little chest, rounding like a tufted bird’s, “you’re going to lick your own cum out of me like some dog?”

He responded with only the slowest, deepest rock and a groan that was not altogether displeased. That made her recoil slightly, feeling his brow and soft hair press into her shoulder as he kissed the skin that he could reach.

“I’ll take audiences with you like this, on my throne,” he grit out with a rough bounce. She planted her hands on his knees and bowed her head in focus. He ignored her last statement, maybe because to rise to defend himself from her accusation was proving too difficult. Still, other than the wet sounds of her sex pulling against his, there was nothing but silence in the room. 

Being a queen was about performance. She was as unified to the first queen to serve this planet as she was some sweet-voiced brothel-girl hired to play a cheap matinee of _The_ _Supreme Leader’s Abduction._

It was all the same game, in the end.

He smacked his palm into her ass, and she yelped, but pushed her hips down against his, hard. He had less purchase on the movements of her body for a few key moments.

But flushing, she remembered the eyes on them, her handmaidens, who had just watched her fuck  _ back.  _ Her thighs chorded with exertion and she gave a genuine, meek little moan when her slide brought him snug against something so sweet in her cunt. She whimpered when he took notice and exploited the weakness again. 

“Won’t you like to be my sweet little one?” he plied with a few tight circles around her swollen clit, “don’t you want to be good? Show everyone who comes to speak to the Supreme Leader how far you’ve fallen?”

The tenderness was a welcome change from brutality. Tempting in the onslaught of it. But she would steel herself against the longing for softness.

“And this is how you show your strength?” she snapped back, her hips rising to slide herself up and down his big cock, “raping a child?”

His hand closed around her throat. She didn’t sense the loss of air until after she heard the handmaidens cry out. Libaé had a knife in her fist and was running to them, prepared to die to defend her, but one brief motion behind the queen had her flying into a marble column. 

He used it. 

Despite the blood pounding in her face, she felt the pull of the force in her chest most of all. This was the first time she had seen him use it.

He was lifting her up as her face reddened when her circulation cut out.

“Show me, then,” he squeezed until she flopped like a caught fish in his grip, “show me how strong you are.”

She clawed at his arms as he raised her above his head, his eyes wide and vulnerable and slightly crazed. 

She remembered her training. She remembered to hide. 

“I know what I saw in you,” he hissed, letting go of her throat for her to drop to the floor, naked and gasping, her cosmetics running down her face. “Show me.”

She clenched her fists and shook her head. 

“You’ll have to kill me.”

He grabbed her by the hair and there was another yelp from their captive audience, but as Libaé lay there far too still and far too silent, no one else dared move.

"We will discuss, later, the consequences of one of your maids making an attempt on my life."

He picked her up with his arm under her knees and hauled her over to the balcony. This broke her composure. At this she clawed desperately to escape him. 

He dragged her, as she tried to haul out of his grasp, onto the veranda, crooning sweet nothings about her apparent shyness and beauty.

He sat her, naked and sweating and probably bruised and ruined, in plain view of the city below on the balcony railing. To show off his prize.

If she pushed away, she’d fall to her death from one of the waterfalls that cut through Theed. To prevent this, she would need to cling to him and take his violation in plain sight. 

She chose neither, and went limp, and just hoped that her choice would buy another moment of much-needed time. 

His kiss was that of a bridegroom then: triumph and love and claiming. 

He used her body skillfully, pulling his cock in and out with a frenzied rhythm, and she let herself take it as he held her open in the warm air.

She whimpered in the orange glow of the sunset when his cock filled her up all over again.

She’d waved to her people from this balcony. It was encouraged to do so, in a way that seemed random but was very scheduled, in order to make her citizens feel she was being given back to them.

He fucked her on this place, probably knowing that.

“Who do you serve,” he hissed against her throat, “your people, or me?”

“My people,” she said faintly, staring up at how beautiful the clouds were. She always loved this planet. “You’re a monster.”

“A monster who will become much kinder if you just give him what he wants...”

She grimaced at him. The wall came back up.

_ Don’t think about Kira. _

_ Don’t think about Kira. _

_ Don’t think about how the Operas will be sung about Kira when you’re the one who stayed behind-- _

“The flies have come out to swarm,” he bent low to her ear, caressing it with his lips as he fucked much more slowly and sensually, as the noises from the crowd that had gathered began to rise to her ears, “They are going to watch their little pear rot in the sunshine.”

No, his thumb caressed sweetly and the possession of his filthy words did things to her body as her mind rebelled. She closed her eyes tight and fought it, but her orgasm came as more of a symbol, just like she was. A meaningless symbol, she was sure it would someday be, also like herself. She hung back, and he dangled her into the drippy sunset, exposing her over the edge of the rail, and with great shame she realized she didn't scramble in his arms to fight and instead let him hold her up with no thought, in that moment, of falling. 

She could hear thunderous applause for the sacrifice she made for them. Shaping herself into a thing that would soon require their honor no longer.

He gave off a bizarre, boastful sound, and for the first time of the night appearing human he buried his face in her throat and sighed and kissed her chest lazily as he finished: as pleased as a cat cuddling up in a warm spot of sunshine. 

He had his fill of the torture, it would seem, and yet his satisfaction was the thing that made her snap. His guard was clearly down. that was enough.

She hooked her knees so they locked over the railing. Falling backwards was still not ideal, but it was instinct that made her ground herself as she brought up her hand to launch him across the room with just a push of her mind. 

He let out a yell as he shot backwards through the open veranda door into her chambers.

As soon as he was no longer standing before her, she let her feet drop to the patio and returned to the privacy of her rooms, drawing the windows shut for the first time in since winter.

He sprawled across the tile, naked and panting. His cock was still hard, extended from his body and an angry flushing red. 

The weapon of his choice failed him for now.

“Leave us,” he snapped at the gathered handmaidens.

He dismissed them before the absence of Handmaiden Ré was noticed. 

Was it worth it? They stared at her mournfully, having outed such a secret, perhaps greater than the game of concealment she had sacrificed herself to facilitate. 

There was a pause that flashed livid in his eyes when no one obeyed his command. They awaited her next move.

She glanced up at them, hands folded before her pale, poised body. She had acted rashly. The least she could do was go on with order and dignity to the end.

“You may leave us,” she permitted, and he looked twice as angry when they obeyed her order instead. 

She was relieved to see one assist Libaé, who was not dead from his previous attack, to limp out of the room.

She felt their dread. Tamped down, now breathing freely, the seam he was picking at was ripped back and exposed. Surging through her, she felt everything. But mostly she felt him: like a burning flame curling up her edges. 

But he was too busy staring at her with his examining gaze, without breaking it he wiped a slow-beading trickle of blood that she had knocked out of his full lips.

He looked pleased, like a biologist observing an animal as it existed freely in the wild. The most carefully trained and groomed creature of all was undone.

“I knew it,” he whispered when they were once again alone.


	6. Chapter 6

She pressed her dry tongue to her lips. Breathing hard from the exertion of such a hard force push. 

She’d never moved an object so large before. 

“Knew  _ what?” _

“Do not play dumb with me,” he lifted forward onto his knees. He seemed comfortable while completely naked in front of her. His cock was smeared with her blood. 

She felt the same blood, her blood, coat her thighs as a breeze danced in the gap between them.

_He’d lick it off her, and she’d lick it off him. A soft tongue-bath for them. Maybe every night, if he liked it. If it embarrassed her in all the right ways. Squirming and red-faced, he’d play with his mewling bride until she was all clean, and her master was all clean, and then he’d tickle her for a while until he let her go to sleep in his large arms._ _Tickle her cunny until she thrashed and begged him to stop. Make her cum until her face screwed up and she drooled, her tongue hanging out of her mouth._

_ Make her cum until her face showed how  _ ruined _ she was, then project the images of a former queen across the galaxy. His conquest. His whore.  _

She wrenched the viper out of her mind, feeling the razor-sharp stab of his consciousness entering hers. 

“We’re connected for a reason,” he crawled towards her, his hand out to almost ensure she knew that even crouched on the marble floor, he’d knock her down before she did now that he was ready for an attack. “I sensed it from the moment I saw you. I don’t know how you hid it for so long. Surely there were tests for your force signature even before the elections. But you did it.”

She didn’t know why she walked towards him as he spoke, her slender hips swaying as they now knew the weight of holding a cock inside them. Her little clit was tender and made her shiver with each step. 

He seemed to sense the equally harsh sting between her legs.

“I know,” his eyes were wide and sympathetic. She didn’t like all the sides to this dark emperor. The kind ones scared her more. “I had to provoke you. I had to force it out of you. Does it hurt?”

“I was...scared,” she said quietly. “Always scared. But you... _ saw me.” _

She breathed it as if amazed. Lies. All lies. 

Scared and not even a little bit who he thought she was. 

“I know,” he crooned, his handsome face slightly crazed with pleasure, “little one, I know it must be very scary to feel all alone. Your handmaidens made it harder to find you amongst them. That’s why you have them, is it not? To throw off all kinds of scents.”

Her belly was right in front of him, crouching on the floor. 

“I saw you anyway.”

He was distracted. Keep him distracted. 

She slid her fingers between her labia and parted her bloody sex for him. 

_ It wept too: sticky arousal, all ready for his tongue. She wanted him to open his mouth and to dab her sex on his lush, pink organ, have it slither and fill her up, curl inside and make her cum until she rose on her toes.  _

Now she was in his head. He shivered with pleasure. 

Ré was not sure at what time she had broken: but this was what she could ask for, could have, in her final moments. 

Her hands settled on his shoulders.

The interest she showed, along with the obedience, clearly pleased him.

“Do you want tickles?” he sighed, dipping his tongue against her clit, “poor thing. So alone in the galaxy. I’m going to take care of my little princess.”

He eased a knee over his shoulder. 

“I am a queen,” she tried the lie out loud one more time. 

He nodded indulgently. 

_ Oh, he didn’t know. _

He knew one thing about her. But not the other.

His finger teased inside her.

“This is mine,” he promised her, kissing her lifted thigh. 

Even if the one thing he knew was probably the more important secret in the long run; Kira needed every moment to spare. For her Queen she sacrificed the more dangerous secret. The one about herself, her powers. 

She remembered that morning. Requesting prayer and meditation before her big day, alone with her handmaidens. Weeping staff and advisors. 

Kissing Kira goodbye as she, in her commoner’s clothes, was hurried into a ship with only the most loyal of the guards and they all prayed for the moments Ré would buy in her place. 

His mouth enveloped her entire tiny, pink sex, and she squirmed with a hopeless moan. 

Kira didn’t want anyone to die for her.

But for the Galaxy, it was a small price to pay for any of them. 

His tongue lapped at her:

“I’m going to train you. In pleasure. And as my apprentice. I’ll be your master in every way. You will live your days by my sword and your nights by my cock. I’ll keep you so tired, but so strong. And you will not be alone. Not on some cottage with no visits. That’s not fair. You’re not a country plaything. You’ll be mine. You’ll never hide anything from me again.”

Ré had struggled with her vows as a handmaiden. She was competitive, which did not suit her well for combat. She was undiplomatic, which made her difficult to substitute in during small meetings. She was unskilled with cosmetics, which made her practically useless in the Queen’s chambers for most of the days she was present in it. 

She had a resemblance. The most striking resemblance. She had power. Terrible power, the kind that would never be allowed to be held even by a Queen on this planet.

And she had until sundown until she could be herself again.

Her husband was cast in a warm red glow at her feet. The last of the light. Surely this was enough time. 

His mouth was slippery from her sex. He seemed to be making an attempt to soothe his previous cruelties, now that she had use to him as more than just a way to bear his obvious sadistic side. She had  _ power. _

Power a little queen did not. 

She let him make her cum. Waited for him to make her cum. There was a rush of fluid that lashed across his face, her neck arched and her strong, tensed leg crossed over his shoulders. She even howled out her pleasure: this man was a monster but his silent mouth had a use she couldn’t run far from.

“I’m sure you feel foolish then,” she couldn’t hide the smile that graced her painted, smeared lips, “marrying someone whose face you can’t recognize.”

Her knee hooked around the back of his head, trapping him there. He growled, not liking her show of authority even towards her own sex. 

“Because I know my enemy, husband.”

Her humiliation would nowhere near rival his. 

She fell back when he shoved her to the floor, scrambling on her hands and her ass to get away from him. 

This was her taking something in her last moments. She was too proud. But she never thought she’d make a good queen. She wasn’t even one of the girls with rich parents who trained their daughters like courtesans to serve a Matriarch: facial scanning technology found a Queen’s Double in a child on the streets. 

The girls loved her, even though she never truly felt like she belonged to them. Her duty was still sacred. But she never felt like one of them

She was always Ré.

This mission wasn’t just for Naboo. Not just for Kira. Not even for a queen. 

But another princess, and her kingdom that did not even exist anymore. An old ally of this planet. 

He considered her from their opposite sides of the floor. He was trying to thrust his will into her mind:  _ hard. _

She kept her mind quiet. He couldn’t take from it like he could her body.

He took a glass of wine from the side table, pulling a slow sip. Breathing heavily. 

He spat the mouthful right in her face. Removing the last of her cosmetics in a warm, insulting slide. 

Ré wiped the drips from her mouth and eyes from the back of her hand. 

“The Resistance sends their regards. And your mother says hello,  _ Ben.” _

He was up in a moment. Not killing her. Not yet. She was the smallest part of what he needed to handle. He was already at a comm system at the bed, dialing in his own orders in a wrath she knew she was lucky for every second she spent with it not entirely focused on her. 

When it was: it would be over. 

She wouldn’t get to see if her plan ever worked. 

He howled into the phone about a traitor to his Empire. Was she the traitor, or was Kira? 

She expected death at the end of this night. That was how the Opera would go. He’s plunge a dagger into her heart and he would echo through the theater with rage and her white body would sluice with spilled blood. 

_ Lightsaber. He would rend her in two with a lightsaber; but that was harder to stage in an Opera, even in the Royal Theed Theater. A dagger would tell the story better. A dagger in the heart. _

_ Everyone on their feet for her sacrifice as the curtains fall. Thunderous applause. _

It is not nearly so easy as that.

His ship arrived first. It was hovering outside the veranda, a tight enough vessel to be boarded even on from that balcony. Kylo Ren had not looked at her since she had mocked him. He was breathing like a raging animal. But he had not touched her. Struck her. 

She still knelt on the floor, naked, waiting. 

He tossed a dressing table across the room with a curse and a roar. 

Listening for the hum of a saber before it cut her in half. 

“Who are you?” she heard his words spoken softly from the other side of the room. Dangerously soft; but a little impressed. 

“I’m nobody,” she said, and it was the proudest declaration she had ever made.

The Supreme Leader gave her only a pensive pause in response. 

Something closed around her throat; but it is not his gloved hands. 

She realized with a sharp tug he had secured a collar around her neck. 

No. _No._

She wrapped her hands around the ring and tried to pull herself off of his lead. There was no giving.

“Where are you taking me?”

He barely glanced over his shoulder. Clearly, despite her haughtiness, he did not seem to consider this her fault. 

The ship was waiting for him, but with dread she realized, for  _ them. _

“You’re coming with me.”

“You were supposed to...y _ -you were supposed to kill me.” _

He smiled mildly at her then, yanking the chain on her collar hard. Being naked in this red air felt even more wrong. She struggled, but the bonds suppressed her powers and being so tight about her neck, she’d pass out before she’d resist enough to escape them. 

And if she could sense something about Kylo Ren: if she fainted he’d just carry her.

The Supreme Leader spoke through a clenched jaw:

“Little wife,” he shook his head, carefully smoothing a strand of hair out of her face. “For was it not you I that married this morning?”

There was not a second to waste for Kira’s escape. She was secured in the pod at dawn. They swapped clothes last night when the handmaidens prepared the queen for bed. Kira rested in their shared quarters while Rey spent what would be her last night in a queen’s bed. 

She swallowed. 

And yet all there was now, it seemed, was time.

Those vows fell from her own lips. 

Forever. 

Her punishment for besting him had to be death. Wasn’t it?

His liquid irises filled with a hungry-blown pupil. He lifted a root onto the balcony railing: the very same place he had fucked her. He helped her up first, a yank she could not resist if she tried, and then himself, then he climbed easily into the slim, knife-like fighter. 

His hand was tight on her bonds the entire time.

“You are mine to do with as I please. Do not worry your pretty little head. You’ve served your purpose to your planet. Now you will serve your purpose to me; as I have great use for you.”

She didn’t even have time to contemplate jumping. 

With one yank, she was seated on his lap, naked in his ship, with no purpose left but his. 


	7. part ii: ruined empress

She woke in a nest of stars. 

The hammock-bed wasn’t anything like the lushly padded mattress she slept in, even for mere days, as a queen. Even before that time, she and her fellow handmaidens resided in a shared room only meters away from their Queen’s bed, to rush to her side, for the purpose was to serve the being in that chamber. Her bed in that shared room had been comfortable. Plush. Steady. 

Waking in the night to hear Cosimé creep into Tallé’s bed, as though no one would notice in the morning, the sight of them curled naked around each other under the same set of sheets. Flushed with dawn and the lingering pleasure they rang out of each other in the night. The routine music of their moans through the darkness had become something all the other girls had learned to sleep through.

It was not so easy to Ré, who was a light sleeper, sleepless even, alone in the bed identical to all the others. Listening to those cries shake through the night and wondering. 

And yet, it had been easy to sleep there, on Naboo, compared to her marriage bed. Wherever that bed currently was.

Her bed as a handmaiden didn’t rock like this silken sling, glittering with silver thread, as her sleeping body hung from the ceiling. 

It gave an uneasy feeling, in sleep. The sway when the air temperature changed, a hiss of air knocking her awake by the jostle of the bed. She wondered many times how much time had passed, or how manipulated the passage of time was by her surroundings. The lights in the small room brightened and faded to create their own cycle: or maybe the days really did feel that meaningless. 

Even in the dark, the silver thread in the weave of the netting glinted like stardust. 

Ré let her head rest against the cradle, the base of her skull feeling flooded and heavy. She was wide awake when the lights shut off. She had the creeping suspicion the “nights” were becoming longer: though one thing she could tell about the kinetic hum of the walls around her was wherever it was, was not planet-side. Night was relative in space. She could sleep for a hundred years on this borrowed time. 

Hung like the moon in a room all alone.

Now she was finally sleepy, after hours of controlled darkness. Her lashes brushed her cheeks, though she saw the room whenever she closed her eyes. 

Had forced herself to memorize it in her imprisonment in order to keep it in her mind to block out more painful thoughts. 

Naboo. Fruit. The laughter of the other Handmaidens as they brushed Kira’s hair. Tallé and Cosimé’s hands intertwined when they both blinked awake each morning. 

Ré had only shared a bed once in her life: and she didn’t sleep for a moment of it.

It used to lash across her mind and Ré would cry out as if cracked with a whip. Wringing her hands in the pearl-soft sheet. 

She had trained herself to keep these feelings away. 

Wonder of what happened to all that helped in this plot.

Wonder that as she laying untouched, his punishment was instead of all her people.

Guiltiest of all:

Wonder of what it would be like to curl up in a bed with a lover. 

True, the term of handmaiden to the queen was a time to keep wondering of that sort at bay. It was her time of service. Though things happened, they always did, especially amongst the girls in closed quarters. Staff of the palace were generous with grave warnings about sneaking off with the palace guards, or a young dignitary, but nothing was said of the girls’ hands hidden in each other’s skirts, the closeness demanded of all of them, the quiet and secrecy. 

It did not feel that the intimacy between Cosimé and Tallé was found in spite of their circumstance: it bloomed from it. 

The natural product of the customs of Naboo. 

Ré drew the silvery sheet over her breast and sighed contentedly, if only because the half-rotation roll onto one side curved her pleasantly in the hammock’s embrace. It was so fleeting a pleasure that it was forgotten in a moment why she even sighed at all. 

Still, sleep fell over her steadily enough. Her heartbeat slowed. Her head cleared. 

Heavily it settled, her adherence to the routine this place designed for her. Sleep was the only reprieve. 

Another night in this prison. 

She was obediently asleep when he entered the room and curled a hand around her ankle. The dim light hit her unpainted face like a little moon. 

When she woke, hands were running up and down her hips, under the barest layer of wispy fabric. She shuddered at the chill to those hands. 

Droids had fed her, helped her bathe, a few times a medical droid administered a draught for menstrual cramps. That she experience for the first time alone, remembering the bladder-bags of hot water given out to the other handmaidens, who one by one wore a sour, pained expression each month. 

They were supposed to bleed together. There was a sacred bathing ceremony for them: one she'd never been able to attend. Iced out, the only one guilty of childhood underfeeding that hindered her womanhood. 

Now she bled alone.

But Ré had no human interaction, previously trained to be as social as an organ in a body’s system, since her wedding. 

She hadn’t realized the effects of solitude until she found her body responding to steady stroking, which she hadn’t noticed until far after it started. A gloved hand dipped between her legs, rubbing down from her belly. 

_ “Hmm,” _ she hummed, her face twisting up. Human warmth glowed against her back. 

That was how she woke up.

Her husband’s lips planted against her shoulder and sucking deeply from her skin. 

With that, she gave a deeper sound, one of panic, but he gathered her up carefully in his grasp. 

“No, no,” he crooned at her, limbs flailing slightly towards the edge of the hammock. She was unmoored in this bed, marooned, and the sheer size of it only now made sense to house him in it as well. With his weight, the swing was stretched solidly taut instead of rocking her senseless. “No, just lie still.”

She struggled against the suppressing cuffs that bound her wrists. He pinned her hands easily and resumed his work of her body.

He brushed her hair to the side and kept sucking her skin, now higher, up to her ear.

Her hair was neither covered or ornately done: it was just long and sleek and flowing naturally from her skull. A change from the fashions of Naboo. Star-shiny and silvered, like a crescent moon waning away. She felt his face nuzzle into its softness. Cradled in the emptying curve of her.

“I’m back,” he informed her, a hand cupping her thinly-veiled breast with a squeeze.

His tone was eerily normal about the whole thing, like this was a long-established routine between them. Him coming home and palming her small breast as a welcome, her sleep interrupted by his presence. He seemed comforted by it. 

When this was new, at least to her, once anticipating to be kept as a concubine and only now awoken to be used as one. In all the time that had passed -time she could not be sure of despite marking the walls each morning- she had been given no indication of what her life here was going to be. This wasn’t a cell, she was given clothing that was simplistic but by no means the dress of a prisoner, she was still collared but she also wasn’t strung along by her Supreme Leader for the purposes he threatened. 

“W-where were you?” she mumbled dreamily, the first question to form on her lips after a hiccup of need when his thumb stroked over her hard nipple. 

It felt a like a stupid question: in the time that elapsed he could have been a great many places.

His lips attached to the crook of her shoulder and sucked with a pulse until she trembled.

A hum escaped her lips, and it was so familiar on her tongue, but she wasn’t sure why. 

Yes, there were things she had been instructed in, in pleasure, in anticipation for her wedding. But those were as routine to her as court dances, or fighting. 

Familiar maybe because it was the sleepy sound that followed bare feet slapping across the tiled floors, when one of her fellow handmaidens would sigh in pleasure to wake with her bed being occupied by another. 

“Will you be gone as long the next time?”

He shook his head, buried in her neck, the bulk of him lurking over her. She felt the whisper of bareness against her flesh, her nightgown removed, her nakedness in the dark. 

She’d think the room would brighten when she saw him again, from whatever control he had over it. And an interrogation would begin, and the pain would all but kill her. 

She didn’t expect this. Him coming to collect his marital rights from her body in the dark. 

Or visiting in the night like a lover. 

Being so deafened to human touch made her shiver with every touch. Being so empty of warmth made her purr when he placed his body above her own. 

She hated him. 

But an enemy in a wasteland just looked like a person from far enough away.

“I don’t know,” he replied after a moment, tossing one leg aside with his gloved hand on her folded knee, opening up her thighs for him to dip between. 

The tame cuddling fizzed in her head. His touch had a burn to it, or maybe his mind?

Her bound hands stayed tight to her chest until he lifted them above her head. 

Still, she didn’t struggle. 

She felt awoken from hibernation. 

This could be any world she lived in.

“Ben,” she mumbled, and he hissed as if burned, hands slithering down her naked form. 

Any other protests of his given name were silent. All he said was:

_ “Hush.” _

Which she did not obey.

“What are you trying to get out of me?”

This was not the interrogation she had pictured. He hadn’t even asked a question.

The Supreme Leader lifted his head from her sternum.

“What?”

“What do you want?” she fidgeted beneath him, elbows knocking against his chest as her hands were useless. “Why are you doing this?”

“My,” his body hunched over hers defeatedly, “my wife...”

The rest was garbled nonsense he pressed to her lips. Heavy kisses dulled the words anyway. She shivered beneath him. Of all the things she considered herself, his wife was low on that list.

The fact that he remembered terrified her. She had hoped that she was left somewhere to be forgotten about: that she could never be what he wanted and after acquiring her he placed her on a shelf like her planet and the lives of millions and walked away from it once it was behind glass. 

The bravado of the man she married had dissolved like mist. The smugness, the elegance was there. But maybe in the fact she had already tricked him made him tamer, or even unsure. He gave little. He was not the conqueror from before.

Or was she not a conquest. Just something he already owned and didn’t have to earn.

“Please,” she tried to shake him off, “where are we?”

“Hush,” he held her hips down, his head shaking to regain focus.

His thumb split her lips open, tracing a dewy arousal that she couldn’t prevent or deny now that he had his hand in it. Her eyes squeezed closed. 

This time, he did not attempt to convince her of her own arousal. He didn’t gloat over it, run it through her vision. He just quietly encouraged it until the delicate circles of his touch had her gasping.

All other questions were silenced as he pushed inside her with little care for her thoughts on the matter.

_ Be a good wife to him, _ the wise queen, Kira, had advised her, with a sad smile and a hand on her knee,  _ you may live longer.  _

She had not anticipated this mission would have her living long after the wedding at all.

Her heart was pounding. Her legs quaked around his body. 

It didn’t feel like the first time. Maybe not being quite awake yet, aware of the horror of operatic proportions, made the entrance to her body a less difficult one. He slid inside with little resistance and much less foreplay this time.

She grunted once, him seated deep in her belly, and lay there still on the bed as he began to thrust. Her head fell back on the pillow, almost daring to fall asleep once again.

That didn’t satisfy him.

“I can practically hear you plotting my murder from down there.”

There was a casual amusement that warmed his voice.

Unlike his initial arrival: his eyes were alert now, awake.

She remained unmoved. 

The gloved hand tossed lazily between her shaking thighs began to stroke her sensually. 

Ré flinched away from the touch. Her hair spilled over one shoulder, sleek and shining, tears quite like it falling from her cheeks. Everything was too raw and flowing outward. She hated him. He uncoiled it, studied it, and played with it like all of her emotions. 

“That resentment I feel, is it for making you like it?”

Her eyes squeezed shut and a whimper escaped her as his thumb toyed with her little pearl. 

The same sound that would drift across the handmaiden’s quarters from Cosimé’s bed. 

“I j-just,” exhaustion weighed heavy in her chest, “wish I knew more about my own body before you  _ ruined _ it.”

His attack grew lethal, her cunt surrendering, because she was right and anything that could be known about it was from  _ him. _

He punished her with a sickening pleasure that had her degraded: squeaking and pleading and crying for him, for dependence on him, for need from him, for nothing of herself. He had taken everything from her and she still needed from him. 

She quivered around that hand, lost to the galaxy but not to him, bucking and crying out until he steadied her with oblivion. 

She had not anticipated this was how their next meeting would be, in all the time she had been given to plan it.

Her body shook underneath his.

Then he pulled out.

"I did ruin you, didn't I?"

He sounded so darkly _pleased_ with himself.

She merely cracked an eye open in confusion at that, knowing he had not yet spent. 

He crawled down her body and opened up her thighs again. 

Fingers spread her labia. Toyed with her entrance. Drummed from her soaked little hole down the stretch of sensitive skin -a fingertip nudging a part of her that had never been intruded, at this she gave a yelp- his whole hand exploring her slowly. She whined as he played with her body, poking and caressing around these places she’d never shared with anyone but him.

And one other, by his command.

She closed her eyes and shuddered at this.

As if he could read her mind, he chuckled as he showed her just how _ruined_ she was.

“And yet, you didn’t play with any of  _ this _ once while I was gone.”

He left her rippling cunt empty and crawled up her body. She whimpered as he roughly rolled her onto her back. There was nothing she could do.

He hadn’t taken the cuffs off yet. 

“You waited for me to give you pleasure again.”

How did he know?

She should have guessed she was being monitored, but how did all that time compress down into every minute being known that  _ she didn’t... _

Bullying her seemed easier than intimacy. And Ré found herself despising it less: taking it was easier than whatever she was supposed to give in this arrangement. 

Straddling her chest, his cock brushed her lips. She protested, but a thumb slithered into her mouth and prevented her jaw from clamping down.

_ “Ah-ah,” _ he eased, pulling her teeth apart slowly, “you’ll have to suck eventually.”

Her mouth was watering when it closed around the salty head. Slick as her lips sucked him needily, nursing from the pink shaft. 

“Time for some good night milk,” he promised, the fingers of the hand with a thumb in her mouth caressing her working cheeks. She could feel it spilling down her throat, warm and thick, before he even came. It was like he was in her mind, guiding her through his intentions, and they were of a low bar for her to step over. 

Still, nervous hands came to rest on his stomach. Bound at the wrists. 

Her powers suppressed, so while she hung in this starry prison, she was nothing but a toy for his attention.

“Good,” he encouraged, tipping his hips forward to she had to take more of him, starting to swallow with her sucks to work his way down.

Satisfied, a hand reached behind him. First it merely pressed down at her hipbone, but when her hopeful mouth sucked eagerly, he placed a single finger inside her body and thrust at the pace of her lips. 

She moaned to be filled up again, leaking around his finger. 

“Little Queen,” he purred, “I’m home.”


	8. Chapter 8

Plush lips working her open, a tongue dipping out, seeking warmth within her…

A gasp left her lips as her eyes flew open. 

Her husband acted as though nothing had happened, her thighs tossed lazily over his shoulders, and kept licking at her soaked hole. 

This was maybe the third of fourth time he had returned to her to claim his rights. She has no idea how much time had passed between each visit. Some breaks felt like months. Some mere days.

She had little sense of her last memories of him with his body working her open just about every time he woke her up from his absence.

Her lip trembled as she bit down on it, thighs chording with shaking muscle, and he did move only to hold her body down to his assault. The pleasure of her sex caught up with her consciousness: horror slipped in more slowly, sometimes capable of being ignored.

Sometimes she woke to the stretch of her shadowed husband already slipping inside: and it was waking from the moment of breathlessness that still occurred the moment he was hilted deep. Her hand shook into a small fist to find she would be awake for every moment until then, not just after, this night. 

“Can I be sure it’s really you?” she murmured aloud, mind still cloudy, but the port window was open unlike it had ever been before and she saw the silvered light of stars across his bare shoulders. They rolled, bones working under muscle to readjust himself, maybe lower and closer now that she was in fact awake for his teasing pleasure, a chuckle muffled right into the mouth of her cunt. 

“Who else would it be?”

“Whoever you want it to be,” she snapped, and she meant it to be cold, but he lifted his head in warning to not give him any ideas. 

He held it long enough for a shudder to rack through her body. 

Who, indeed. She dared not wonder.

He shrugged once the moment of dread settled fully over her limbs, weighing them down, making her lie still and obedient. 

But not silent.

She took a deep breath: more awake to his presence than she had been before when he visited. She would make this be a foolish change on his part. She would use this against him. 

“Wherever you’ve been, you’ve been there before,” she said it cryptically, like a riddle, so grave he actually lifted his hands from her.

The Supreme Leader sat back on his heels at the edge of her bed. How he managed to balance so elegantly on the swing material while she felt like a pearl being rolled around in it was deeply disparaging. 

“What makes you say that?”

She shrugged her stretched-out body, not sure if she should give away her secrets just yet. But the information she was seeking was clearly going to cost her something before he said another word.

Annoyed at his patient silence, she rolled onto her hip. She curled on her side in the bed like his presence was not the invasion it had once been: she’d managed to stall him into conversing, so she had to keep him involved in it as long as possible. He even rested his weight on one hand by her hip, taking her lead. 

It was almost natural.

She took a deep breath and called back to her senses: what stood out before, in the subtle differences, each visit poured over time and time again until she could mark the distinctions of all of them. 

“You smell the same as you did your first visit. You’ve at least been to the same place. Or seen the same person.”

The scent had draped across her bed once before. The recognition had made her dulled sense spring back to life.

But the accusation fell a little too readily from her lips. His brow raised, not missing for a moment she might have implied an infidelity like such a thing would affect her in the slightest. 

“How little faith,” he teased gently, “that you would believe that I already would be bored with you. Have I not been coming back enough for my little wife? Does she long for me?”

Ré gave a low growl in warning.

The sleepy affair between their bodies was not as violent or loathsome as her entrapment made her anticipate. He usually had himself in the state of completion, or near enough to it, by the time she woke up. He only razed her bed with his presence when he himself seemed to be in need of the physical pleasure for himself. Her hands were always bound by the time she woke up anyway, there was an element of that which made the marital affairs almost able to be ignored. All she had to do was lie still and wait.

The casual nature of it, the resignation with which she gasped and shuddered and came, made this almost seem like they were lovers having made some form of choice. 

“Vows don’t mean much to someone hoping to kill you soon after they were uttered,” she snapped back.

“My sentiments remain the same, and mirror yours,  _ my peach.” _

The affectionate words drip with sarcasm. 

She bit down on her lip and nodded as he spread her legs. She was merely acknowledging the next step of his obvious proceedings, but the consenting nature of it made both of them pause. She wasn’t trying to use her bound hands to scratch his eyes out. He wasn’t choking her to death. 

Dead fight inside her was curling sinister as a snake. It horrified her so much she welcomed his next touches as distraction.

Surprisingly, with her relenting her body, he nodded his surrender, taking his eyes from her. 

“I hate taking meetings in an open setting, but that’s not always within my control unless I constantly dictate every aspect of every moment of my day. Sometimes things slip. A meeting in a throne room with a garden, for example.”

“What flowers?”

Native planet maybe, the rose famous to come certain moon...

“No,” he answered simply, his hand firm on her leg. “That’s all you’re getting.”

She let out a dissatisfied hum to make her point that she was now bored with him if he wasn’t going to be useful to her.

“The war,” she licked her lips, “are  _ -we- _ winning?”

Her voice faltered on _we,_ not sure if it meant the Resistance or the First Order. Perhaps he’d react less violently if she meant the side he held her captive by.

When his mouth hung open, maybe wondering the very same thing, her tongue lashed up and teased his lips apart. The dip inside did not meet more flesh, but teeth, so she arched herself up again to swipe at his mouth once more. When her tongue met his, she gave a groan, and a kittenish caress of it. He bowed into her and groaned back. 

“Are we successful?” she whispered hotly, breathlessly, “How is our army…?”

He choked the question out of her throat with a gloved hand tightening around her windpipe.

“The Resistance remains a constant annoyance to me,” his voice is quiet and velvet against her cheek, “since you are so curious tonight.”

“I’m curious every night,” she dropped her head back to the pillow after he let go of her neck.

“Dangerous thing to be,” he barely acknowledged her as he began to remove his clothes. There was dirt on his skin. The smell of fuel on his hands. Wherever he was, he had clearly not washed or maybe even fed himself before coming here. 

She watched his shadowed face as he shed his clothes above her. She was in a spider’s web, a surface she had no purchase in, but he didn’t seem the smug predator as he undressed himself. The black layers unfolded with little flourish, his head bowed and his face grave, before her dipped down to kiss her again.

“Why bother kissing me?”

Her teeth clashed with his as she tried to speak.

He groaned, this time actually showing his irritation. 

“Because,” it swept out of him in an exasperated breath, “it’s your custom, isn’t it?”

Because he probably knew it hurt. Because he knew that on her planet, these things mattered.

“What game is this,” she twisted beneath him, a sneer curling her nose at him, “what do you want to hold over me?”

“Can I not…?”

He seemed to halt himself. 

Surely he was here for a reason deeper than pleasure: he could take what he wanted from whomever he pleased. The slumped set of his shoulders proved her correct.

“Your name day,” he said quietly.

She arched her neck defensively.

“Not mine. Kira’s.”

“I gathered up the records of Handmaiden Ré,” he shook his head as if her accusation was impossible. “Your name day. Tonight.”

“Why,” she stared at him, “why would you come to me for a kriffing _ name day?” _

Such language was never allowed from a handmaiden. She even winced after she cursed, awaiting reprimand. It took her a moment to remember none of that mattered anymore.

He sat back on his knees, now seemingly embarrassed by his nakedness, unable to look at her. “I had anticipated…”

“That I would want to fuck you?”

She was in no position to be haughty, but her disbelief made her laugh in his face.

This night was so impossible that she only understood who was in the room with her, while she was tied, when he poured himself over her.

“You will take what I give you,” he growled, angry kisses clenching her mouth closed, “as your husband. Your Supreme Leader. Your master.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few ideas for future chapters; but I am interested in the wishes of the dedicated readers of this story. Please feel free to share below.


	9. Chapter 9

“Will you take these off?” she kept her voice the lightest flutter, girlish, hopeful. _“Master?”_

A contrast to the unyielding cuffs around her wrists that had been there since she woke up inside this room. 

He pressed his breathless face into her neck. Her husband had calmed when his kiss had brought her to submission. She noticed the lack of permanence of such threats, at least until he had her pinned just to prove he could.

Oddly enough he seemed to forget about her bindings until she pointed them out. 

He lifted back off of her, holding himself over her body. 

“Don’t misread my generosity for trust.”

His expression was flat.

He said it like he was spitting on her.

She pursed her lips defiantly but held herself silent.

Until.

Her eyes fluttered open quickly. Her temper flared.

Ré herself had never been considered for a run for Queen. She was an inappropriate fit because of that temper inside her. It was undiplomatic; her passions seen as unwise. There would be no sponsorship to a wild girl like her on the planet of Naboo. She had never seen herself in Theed palace at all until the resemblance between herself and Kira was too striking to deprive her planet of her one gift. Then she could be a secret, a single expression of the mask that made a queen, and one that was truly only meant to protect her.

Ré could protect others much more successfully then she could protect herself.

That same anger made her a poor choice of wife for Kylo Ren.

 _“Generosity?_ You were here to exercise your marriage rights.”

Her attempts to sound yielding by the word _master,_ pliant through lies, were an illusion shattered by the wrath on her tongue.

He seemed as unnerved by her accusation than she was by his sentiments.

“I thought...” he wavered like a single fracture in the surface of a glass. 

_No._

It pulsed through her in a low burn.

 _Don’t_ not _tell me._

She knew from the cuffs that any compulsion to answer was not her own: her powers were suppressed and powerfully so. Still, as if commanded by her mere glare, he continued even though it sounded like it pained him.

“You would not like to be alone tonight.”

Then he was inside her so swiftly it was clear what she liked was only a secondary concern, if at all. Ré’s chest shuddered against his as he worked her as though the progress he had made with his mouth had gotten no pause, and no destruction, still by his mouth speaking afterwards.

But the cuffs released with a dark hiss. Like a warning of intense fury. She’d heard a similar noise from him not too long ago. Even if it felt like it had been forever.

He flipped her quickly onto her stomach. Too quickly to make use of her newfound freedom.

“Rub your clit for me,” he grunted, his face tucked in her shoulder. 

She did; but didn’t want to like it. Her touch was tentative at best, accommodating, with a hum of irritation from her clenched jaw each time she found that in spite of everything she did. She squirmed under him just the same, worked up and loathing, hiccups of pleasure sounding sickly from her sun-starved lips.

He was still holding back as though she had not stepped in to aid him. 

He held back and he watched her.

“I am,” she tucked her chin to her shoulder, as though truly looking back at him, but the gesture was to do so sullenly and still hide her eyes from him. Her elbow jerked animatedly “I _am.”_

He seemed to ignore her insistence, hissing to himself, pulling out and then curling his abdomen to fit their bodies more snugly together. His arm, with his balance now regained, slithered around her belly to take over for her. 

She gave out a surprised, somewhat frustrated keen when his touch taking over hers felt sinfully good, her legs gave and she sank onto her belly. Satisfied, he placed his weight over her and fucked down, his wife writhing underneath him as he tickled her clit and stuffed her full using gravity to trap her down by the hips.

That drowsy feeling filled her again, like she was about to nod off again and wake up with him just like this many weeks later, as she had done too many times to remember.

“I don’t know how to be a good wife.”

It sounded less pathetic in her head, but her head was not the most assessing place these days.

_“Hardly something I’ll hold against you.”_

He whispered distractedly as he said it.

“You’ve taken everything else away from me, it’s all I can do,” her hands balled into fists at her chest, “so what else can even matter now, by your standards?”

He was mouthing at her ear, but his lips went still. 

“Would you have rather that I lied, and courted you gently, only to have as much time for your love as I do for your contempt now?”

“You wouldn’t have been courting me at all,” she snapped back, her hips wriggling when he hit a particularly receptive spot. While her tone was ice, her cunt around him was liquid heat, pooling around him, shuddering as he stroked that place inside her over and over. Their animosity was not mirrored by their bodies: candor to lock the other out couldn’t disguise how they had let the other inside. “Remember? I’m a commoner who deceived and betrayed you.”

“Hmm,” he scoffed, his tone unrelenting despite there being not argument to offer against her own words. That was exactly what happened, but he still exhaled as though he didn’t quite agree, “you’re a little queen now, aren’t you? You could not be made less by our union even if you weren’t royalty before. And now you are more powerful than Kira could ever be.”

“Doesn’t it matter?” her shoulders hunched against the assault of his lips.

“Not in the slightest, to me, now that you’re mine. Your people are another story. They probably wouldn’t care about what’s happening to you at all. They probably would be relieved to know it was you, and not the queen.”

“I am not powerful here.”

He paused. Nibbled her lip even as it flinched under his mouth. Her tongue felt so dry. 

“Remember the pear?”

Her body went rigid. There was a sick part of her head, starved after so long in space, that coiled around the memory with a serpentine squeeze. 

“Remember I stuffed the wretched thing into you? You took it, like I knew you could?”

She closed her eyes, face flushing hot.

_“No.”_

“Delicious. Your juice spilling over the unbroken skin. Dreamier than that under-ripe thing. Because you fought me. It felt like so much more than you could take to take it at all,” his hands moved over her for the first time in a way that left warmth trailing through her. She went lax with a whine, “your pride took so little to make so much. A queen in the making already in your nobility even to the end.”

“Stop.”

“Did they tell you this, when you awaited discovery? The plan that would no doubt end in your death,” he snapped his hips harshly into hers, riding her for nothing but recreation but working her as hard as a plowbeast, “that you were as real a queen to your people as the one they actually chose.”

His mocking tone had her claws scraping the netted hammock, fighting the limp hold it had of her, scrambling for one last gasp of purchase.

He ensured she had none but him.

 _“Ohh,”_ he sighed when her fighting body clenched down on him, hands gentle on her hips as he slowed to press _in._

A whimper choked out of her.

Her people chose her for this.

Not to be their queen.

To be his whore in secret.

And _out._

His exit from her body made her eyes roll back and her hips flinch towards him to chase the feeling of being filled again.

And _in._

“Uhh,” she gasped, hair spilling down her shoulders, long and straight, because she had pressed herself up on her palms to press back into his body.

He slid out.

Her empty cunt trembled for her husband. 

“The way you conquer a thing is not persuasion.”

_In._

Her core throbbed for him again. Thighs shook.

“When even the slightest indecency is offensive to its very existence, it takes much more to stomach these indecencies. A planet was invaded, forced to bow, what really is a little pear shoved in the cunt of a child queen?”

“K-Kylo,” she growled, then released in a whine, _“Ben.”_

She understood. The pride of an emperor had been shattered by the name of a boy, spoken by a child.

_A patient slide out._

She whimpered until he entered once again.

“If I brought you to my side with love, there would too much you’d be so willing to take. I see the emptiness in you. I have a war to fight. I cannot be at war with you when you’re wanting.”

He stroked her clit as he seated to hilt. Tears were rolling steadily from her eyes. Blinking and furious. Needing release. Needing more than anything to feel his cum roll down her thighs, to hear the promise that he could fill the emptiness he saw inside her.

“Please,” she whispered.

His fingers pinched her budded little nipples. Like berries, he had said. She wanted his tongue on them. To feed her husband his tiny berries. To have him take what he had seen and fill every inch of her depths. 

“It can’t be this way when I have a war to win. But someday,” he promised her with so much longing she wanted to scream and plead.

_Stay inside me. Fill me up. Don’t leave me. Not like they did._

He left her in this fucking room and all she could do was take this and hope to be happy with it.

“An emperor brought down by a little orphan pretending to be a queen,” he grunted into her skin, letting out a groan at his own flesh slapping against her cunt. His enjoyment roared like fire in her chest. “You were _very_ close. I can now see that if I had been kind: you’d take the milk from my cock so greedily that I’d be defeated by the absence in you. I would drown. A vessel I cannot keep full. What a delicious paradise. Help me win this war and I can make it so. Otherwise, taking so little will always feel like too much.”

His thumb stroked along his cock, tugging aside one lip of her labia, and with a quick swipe the wetted thumb entered the pucker of her ass.

Ré shrieked and fell onto her chest in the hammock bed. Her whole body rocked with shudders of excruciating pleasure, her ass flexing and fighting the intrusion.

He shallowly pumped his thumb, so tight against the quivering flesh separating him from his own cock inside her. Stroking himself more than her: and she felt so little and fragile from that touch she howled through a second orgasm that crested from the peak of the first. The first crashed into the next and her skeleton locked, supple flesh above it pulsing, skin breaking into a crazed gooseflesh because when he wasn’t spearing her body felt cold. Felt empty. 

Was this what he saved for her name day visit? Was this what she had been missing, even in her most pliant and obedient of behavior the night they met?

His cum warmed her inside, dripped down her legs, spurts hitting her belly as he painted her with it. She could only moan for him as it smeared like a balm wherever it touched. He lied when he said he didn't want her ready to accept all she could from him: a void of need that it was.

She wanted this.

It hadn’t felt real until now. He hadn’t been clever or powerful or even in possession of the truth enough for this.

 All of her was his.

 


	10. Chapter 10

She woke to the sense of a storm.

That was impossible off-planet. Too listless, hung up in the stars. Even the crackling static of his use of the force was just her husband acting as a satellite: the only solid thing she had left. Something that shook the very ground beneath them would require any ground to be there under her at all. 

He was the closest thing to ground beneath her, so she rolled over in her bed to hold onto him.

But it pulsed in her swollen veins. Like the wake of a growing pain. The feeling of thunder. 

She realized after many bruising, agonized minutes of thrumming that he was beside her and had not moved at all. 

He was silent even when it was clear to them both she was awake. The hammock was taut with his weight, heavy with quiet. 

He was stroking her hair.

He wasn’t inside her and she pulsed like each vein was growing too big to be contained under her skin. 

“Does my planet know what happened to me?”

_ The whole truth, _ she implored with her eyes,  _ that Kira is alive. That I am nobody. _

He pursed his lips, thumb stroking now at the skin behind her knee. Maybe another hand in his hair. He had the capability to do two things at once. She did not.

This was sadness she had never let him see. 

“They know something happened to whoever married me. It’s no shock that there are whispers since no one has seen your pretty face in...some time. They do not know the true identity of my bride. Acting rashly when we could stamp out her dissent unnoticed would admit my mistake in the first place. So your public execution as a traitor, while desirable, only proves that I was able to be fooled in the first place.”

“You still can’t admit that we gained your trust and you were duped. Soundly.”

But it hurt to speak with the storm pulsing inside of her. Her eyes fluttered shut again. 

“I have already admitted it, little one,” her eyes glittered with tears that he swirled the pad of his thumb through, “just to you. That doesn’t mean I’ve failed. I sensed your power surrounding her. I got what I was looking for. In giving yourself, you just showed me the right way.”

She squirmed under his touch. Her face felt hot. In an odd moment of dizziness, she found her hands at her chest. Untied. 

Was she really so decayed he didn’t even need to tie her anymore?

He actually did something that stunned her; he paused.

“Little queen?”

“I’m gonna…” she twisted in the hammock bed with a whimper. Nothing felt good. Or right. More than usual. 

Though this marriage was like plummeting from a cliff; nothing was usual about the fall. She could fall forever, sleep and wake up and spend eternity never reaching the ground, and it would never be anything but what it was.

He gathered her sweaty, spent body into his arms. He was so detached in observing her before: this careful examination made her more terrified because, instead of being her tyrant, he actually seemed to be checking what was wrong with her.

He didn’t have to cup her face that intently. He had not married her for her mind, what care would he have once it was gone.

“Too long, maybe,” he muttered to himself. Other than the occasional spark of light from the stars outside, he had been a voice in the dark for too much time for her to even say. She didn’t know how to make sense of his body. It was just something that haunted her endless sleep. 

She rested limp in his lap and barely registered a droid pricking a needle into her skin. Her blood was drawn. Just taking from her body: her constant state since her wedding.

The Supreme Leader aided the droid in her examination, holding out her limbs, lifting her, turning her, opening her mouth to accept a swab of her tongue. His efforts confused the dizzy bride. Had he no servants to perform these tasks? Theed Palace was full of busy little nurses to tend even the most low-ranking handmaiden.

And the double, the face that so often went aimed into sniper blast’s, was a replaceable one.

A Supreme Leader helping tend to her sick body proved it; she was a secret for many reasons, not just from the Resistance, but his entire staff. That felt more unbelievable to her that he didn’t want the galaxy to hear of her presence: false or not. 

Why was she being hidden?

“Hibernation sickness,” he shook his head, “I thought I was providing enough activity for you…”

Ré growled at him, her eyes falling shut. 

His arms cradled her to his body, creeping across the hammock that held her aloft all this time. 

“Do you think you can walk?”

He hadn’t even needed to tie her hands this last visit she was so defenseless: suddenly he wanted her capable of motion?

"I'll vomit on you," she threatened this strange, vain man. So pretty yet he hid his face behind a mask. A skilled lover but he only wanted pleasure she didn't want him to take.

He didn't even flinch. She had expected him to heave her across the room at the mention of it.

Her feet were brushing the floor. So this room had a floor. She got the sense he was pressing those curled feet there in an attempt for her to put her weight on them. She was too withered. His hand swung out and the lights in the room were suddenly blinding her. She fell forward to cover her weak eyes. Her hands brushed her hips. There was an usual amount of weight in her chest.

Nervously, her hands strummed over her bare flesh. A heaviness filled her chest that wasn’t there when she last saw the sun, her hips as well.

When had this happened to her body?

Ré could only look around herself in short blinks. The light burned too brightly for her eyes.

Her breath was squeaking out in little hiccups when her husband stood at her feet. His trousers were back on, hastily thrown on as if the room was on fire and they had to leave it quickly.

“Would have been kinder to just kill me,” she growled at him. She had spent the past few years in a training room learning to protect a queen. Now she was a little kitten: soft and useless and weighted with useless curves.

He had his hands on her elbows.

“I am not kind. Try to walk.”

She slumped into his chest, and then fought the contact. She had given up on what was expected from their marriage bed: but other proximity could hopefully be avoided. Maybe he’d leave her to her bed, her sleep. Her flailing almost successfully placed her on the floor. Anywhere was better than his arms. But he held her fast.

“If we don’t get you walking now; you may never again.”

She lifted her face to his. Trying to appear menacing despite the blinking.

“Why do you care.”

He let out a heavy breath of frustration.

“Figuring out what I’m going to do with you is difficult enough without these limitations.”

He stepped back, and back again, and soon, his support of her body by the arms meant she had to follow. The first step was so feeble she wanted to scream at him for what he’d done for her.

“Part of it this is that it’s your first steps,” if she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was currently avoiding her eyes out of shame. “It will pass.”

All she wanted in this galaxy was to swing her knee into his groin. Emotionally, her mind was at its most jagged and savage. It was not the way Handmaidens were trained: but she would kill him in this moment if she could.

Instead she took the most pathetic step forward she’d ever seen.

He let out a little sigh and reeled her further towards him. She tried to yank her limp arms out of his grasp.

He held her steady.

At least, her limbs. Her fuller breasts wobbled, her body naked as he had last left her, and she dug her elbows in to try and shield the sensitive swells.

None of this was free from his eyes: he chuckled.

“Focus on walking,” he didn’t stop himself from brushing a hand over her breast, having it fill his palm, and plumping with a few squeezes.

Her shoulder, above the assaulted breast, caved forward to try and knock his hand aside. 

“Stop.”

His tone was too saccharine and accommodating as he played with her nipple, stopping short for a moment to take his time.

“You can still feel that? I think that’s a good sign.”

Every pinch matched a frantic rush of blood from her thundering pulse. The storm had approached from their bed: rains threatened from her poor cunt.

She felt his touch. Her legs were already shaking enough. Her thighs were tight and trembling. 

She wanted to weep: and he hadn’t even led her to the door yet.

She hadn’t known where to door was. She was surprised not by its location in the once-dark room, but the way it shuttered open when Kylo Ren approached it. 

He kept leading her.

“No.”

His eyes lost the soft sheen of a nursemaid. He looked at her sharply. Smugly.

His hand left her breast and curled tightly around her elbow.

“Yes, you’re coming.”

She tried to yank herself free, but her own weight was too unwieldy for her reduced strength. She swung wildly for a moment before he caught her again.

Her breasts. Her wider hips. Her wet cunt.

She nearly wanted to weep and beg him: but when had she done that so far? Humiliation after humiliation.

“You like it.”

Ré fear came out as a hiccup.

_ “How dare you.” _

“Don’t pretend. I can smell your cunt from here.”

The next room was not a dais of courtiers, as she had anticipated to be paraded through, or barracks that she would service his best men. No eyes waited for her nakedness but his. It was merely a ‘fresher with a bath. Her little nipples were slightly stiff in the colder air, her body relaxed a moment and she padded a step or two forward without needing to pause and balance.

One hand left her body, reaching for a panel of buttons on the wall. A dispenser fell to extend over the bath, a powdered treatment pouring out, as it began to fill up with water. 

A medicinal smell filled the room.

“This will stimulate the nerves, get rid of the numbness” he wasn’t looking at her. He was removing his trousers. “Get in.”

He had left her propped against the edge of the tub. There was nowhere to go but down, with the state of her unused legs.

Fearfully, she peered at herself in the mirror. Her curves had become more exaggerated than that of a child-queen impersonator. When had she become a woman in her sleep?

The white room reflected the light in more of an extreme than the hazy light melting into gray and black in her prison. But he went to the wall and dimmed them, as though they were behind a cloud.

To avoid the shape of her new body, she lifted a leg into the tub then the other. 

He caught her body she slipped onto her backside and gently lowered her down.

The salts in the water were mined from Crait and those tingled all over her skin. A blue oil from Eadu. Herbs from…

She could smell them and nearly wept.

Herbs and flowers floating around her from Naboo. She swirled her hands through the water with her head bowed. She thought of her queen.

There was a moment of silence. He watched her from above. Like if this were a storm, they were in the eye for a moment of calm.

Sometimes, after he came inside her, he hovered over her and panted in a similar quiet. Like in the midst of the violence and fear: for a moment they had peace. 


End file.
